“A Salesman is an it that stinks”
Mine is theirs, those details of my life,
All listed for whomever comes to take,
But who is that?
Counterfactual, dates and numbers wrong,
The whole of what I like so well obscured
That all who come to sell will have to fail
Imagine me in showrooms of your mind,
A customer who grins but never speaks,
And leaves you ponder what I’d buy.
So keep on with your pitches, feckless fools,
Stumble off to find a mind that works for you
To purchase what you peddle with a smile.